I’m not much of a complainer. Maybe I am, but I try to keep it at a minimum. And I love my mom. Maybe I should have started with that. I know that my mom is home alone all day and she is bored, but that woman is the biggest saboteur of my writing. I can tell anyone else in the world that I have a plan to write every day at a certain time. I can tell them that I will not be available for any reason until after 2:30 or 3pm because I am trying this new thing called getting in the habit of writing. They say sitting down is the hardest part. It’s not the writing itself. It’s the time. So my main focus has been to make sure that I make the time for it. At least four hours a day. I know that seems like a lot of time to devote to something, especially if that something is just staring at a computer screen and writing a bunch of gibberish until something creative and amazing pops into your head and then you get on a roll, but it’s a thing. And it’s a thing I’m trying. And I swear to you, I can tell my mom a thousand and one times that I’m writing tomorrow morning and I’ll call her when I get finished and no sooner do I sit down to write that I see her sweet sweet face pop up on my phone. I keep my ringer off so I’m not completely distracted, but I keep my phone in my peripheral vision just in case the school calls because, my kid is having issues lately. After about the fourth time, I finally answer. And the conversation usually goes like this:
“Do you have two stamps?”
“that’s why you’re calling?”
“I’m writing, mom.”
“Call you when I’m done.”
Sometimes, she just calls because she’s bored. My siblings are working their regular jobs so they get the reprieve of being called before 5 pm. Again. Let me state that I love my mother and maybe she just calls me because I have a tendency to answer my phone. And I do that because I feel like the one time I decide to not answer will be the one time she’s fallen or had some crazy lunatic with a butter knife and saran wrap break into her house and force her to make him sandwiches or some shit and then I’ll feel bad forever that I didn’t answer the phone, but when she calls and the butter knife bandit has not been there, I get pissed off at myself for answering the phone. I don’t really have the answer to this problem. Well, I do. The answer is a new grandkid or a boyfriend, but I don’t have the time or energy to devote to either one of those. Although I have kicked around the idea of making her a dating profile, but I quickly change my mind when I think about all my online dating mishaps. So I guess I will just continue to answer the phone and smile and tell her that I do, in fact, have two stamps to bring by later. After all, you only get one mother or at least that’s what they tell me.